Of thorns and
Scrapes -
Just out of scratch,
I feel your hand
And light
The match.
Your pulse lies flatly
In your wrist -
I wish you'd
Struggled
To resist...
Stars glitter skyline,
Morning melts;
Day dawns
And mounts
The regrets,
My bloodstream humming
In my ears -
Your faith in magic
Dissapears;
We're left with
Nothing
At the end,
So, please, live on
Or just
Pretend
Sickle
© Copyright: Лиза Ройт, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115062103127
Свидетельство о публикации №115062103127
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